


Catahoula

by zjofierose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Endgame Sterek, Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, background Stiles/Jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late flight, an ESL Uber driver, and a simple mistake are all it takes for Stiles to have his most... memorable... Christmas yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catahoula

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks ever so much to the lovely [deeps](http://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic) for the beta! 
> 
> This fic is totally and shamelessly based on the description of a Hallmark holiday movie, heh. What the hell, it's Christmas!

“Yeah, babe, listen, my flight’s been delayed, but just… hang on, okay? We’re taking off in an hour. I’ll be in SFO by…” Stiles drags a hand through his hair, forcing his brain to do the math. “By midnight, I think. I’ll just take an Uber to your family’s place, and slip in the back door, okay? You don’t need to wait up.”

_“God, I have to be up by 7 for the boss’s company thing. Try to be quiet when you come in.”_

Stiles snorts. “Yeah, I miss you too, sweetheart.”

_“Ass. I’ll be glad to see you. But I need my beauty sleep!”_

“Uh huh. Good night, I love you, I’ll see you in the morning.”

_“Yeah, you too.”_

The call cuts out, and Stiles sighs at the picture of his boyfriend on the phone. “Yeah, you too,” he mimicks, screwing up his face and scowling.

They’ve been together (in one way or another) for five years, him and Jackson; they’d started dating halfway through college, well, okay, they’d starting _fucking_ halfway through college, which had eventually _become_ dating. And one thing led to another, and now they’re just… well, they’re comfortable, he supposes.

It’s not easy, but then, neither are either one of them. Jackson’s a self-absorbed asshole, who’s also driven as fuck by his manifold ambitions, and Stiles is a prickly little under-achieving shit who can’t figure out what he wants from life, himself, or anything around him. But, they’re also inherently energy-conservative when it comes to their private lives, and staying with each other has meant they don’t have to deal with new people who might not understand them in the same way, who might ask them to grow, or change. They’re lazy, he guesses, but it’s worked so far.

Don’t get him wrong; Stiles loves Jackson, he does. But even though he loves him, even though they’ve built a life together, such as it is, he’s just not sure…

This is the thing, though- Stiles isn’t sure about anything, ever. So he’s come to the airport with the intention of finally fully committing, finally trying to just man up, make a decision and go with it. He’s flying out to be with Jackson and his family for Christmas, and… then he’ll see what happens.

\--

The plane leaves even later than he’d hoped, and then there’s gridlock when they’re landing, his plane circling for forty five minutes before touch-down, so he’s not actually out of the airport till a little past one. It’s raining, just a light drizzle, but it gets into his collar, and he didn’t think to bring a hat, so his ears are freezing as he waits for the stupid Uber to show up.

The driver doesn’t speak very good English, but Stiles finally manages to get the address across, and the guy puts it into his GPS, and then they’re off, careening through the winding, damp streets of San Francisco. Stiles closes his eyes and tries to will away the exhaustion, wishing desperately for a shower to get the stale smell of airplane off himself, but he’s pretty sure he’s just going to crash, and crash hard the second he gets within feet of a bed.

Somehow, he dozes off, not waking until the driver grumpily prods him. He stumbles out of the car door with a groggy stare, his carry-on over his shoulder and his little rolling suitcase in his hand, the drizzle having turned into proper rain now. The Uber squeals off into the night, and Stiles is left standing on the little sidewalk up to the front door.

The house is huge, of course- Jackson’s family is rich, and Stiles knows it, but it’s a whole other thing to be confronted with the blatant visual evidence of it via Romanesque design. It’s more tasteful than he had expected, all things considered- it’s a lovely pale color of a shade he can’t discern in the lamp-light, with bougainvillea climbing the columns on the front step and lofting into the sky at the bottom of the second story windows. The yard is dry, per California’s ongoing drought regulations, but the window boxes boast a bounty of healthy succulents, several of them in bloom. A couple of fat bushes sport the big, round, old-fashioned string lights, the primary colors shining merrily into the dark. There are light-up reindeer on the roof, and a… where in the world did they find a Christmas-light cow?

Stiles blinks, shakes his head, and yawns wide enough that his jaw cracks painfully, then makes his muddled way around the back of the house. Jackson had told him before, when Stiles thought he’d be in late, but not late, that there was a house key under a fake rock by the back steps, and that Jackson’d make sure his parents didn’t set the alarm before they went to bed. It’s good to know, because Stiles thinks he’d probably rather sleep under a decorative hedge than ring a doorbell at this time of the morning, so fake rock it is. He manages to get the back gate unlatched by dint of standing on his suitcase and fumbling until he can pull the catch, which, _fuck you Jackson, thanks for the heads up about that little detail_ , but then he’s in, and one step closer to bed.

It’s as he’s digging around in the bushes next to the back steps for the stupid rock and swearing softly under his breath that the door opens in front of him, startling him into a very manly shriek, and a less-manly fall onto his posterior.

The young woman in the door frame blinks at him sleepily. “Oh,” she says, “you made it,” then frowns in confusion. “You know, I really could’ve sworn he’d said a girl’s name…”

Stiles just shrugs. “My first name is weird. It’s why I use Stiles.” He picks himself up, grabs his suitcase, and staggers toward the steps, before it’s his turn to pause and frown. “Huh. He always says he’s an only child…”

She just rolls her eyes, and steps aside so he can come in. “Oh, he always says that. It’s just so he doesn’t have to admit to having sisters who are cooler than he is.”

Stiles laughs half-heartedly, navigating into the kitchen. It does sound like Jackson, alright. He knows Jackson’s adopted, but he never talks about his family, doesn’t keep pictures around, so it’s entirely possible he’s got a dozen siblings. It’s not like Stiles would necessarily _know_ , which is… well, whatever.

He shakes himself, and toes his shoes off by the door. “Where’m I staying?” He turns back to her, and shifts his carry-on to a precarious perch on his shoulder and holds out a hand. “Also, hi, I’m Stiles, what’s your name?”

She yawns, then fishes a hand out of a deep bathrobe sleeve to shake his. “Cora. And you’re upstairs on the left. There’s an en suite.”

“Thanks,” he says, feeling his eyes drooping against his will, “I'm gonna just…” he gestures at the stairs, and Cora yawns again, nodding.

“Yep. Bed.”

\--

He finds the room easily, stumbles into it in a stupor, banging his toes painfully on the edge of some piece of furniture as he tries to find his way to the bed by the sound of Jackson's snores. _That shit,_ Stiles thinks, _his_ sister, _who I didn't even know existed, can wait up for me, but not him_. It fits, though, and it's not like Stiles doesn't know that this is just how Jackson is, hasn’t just accepted it a long time ago- but it just makes him feel even more tired than he already was, so he strips down to his boxers and climbs in. He can brush his teeth in the morning, he thinks, pulls the covers over his face, and falls promptly into a deep sleep.

\--

He wakes up desperately overheated, and flings the covers back to pant into what seems to be an empty room. After a moment of pulling oxygen into his lungs, his brain starts processing again and he remembers where he is. He lays for a moment staring up at the tasteful dove grey ceiling and just breathing, trying to center himself in where he is. He can hear the shower in the en suite going, so either someone snuck in to use the bathroom in here because the others were full, or Jackson's running late for his meeting. Could be either, Stiles thinks, but he has to piss like a racehorse and his mouth tastes like something died in it, so he levers himself upright and swings his legs over the edge. He rummages through his bag for some sweatpants, a hoodie, and his toothbrush before padding into the hallway, crossing his fingers that he doesn’t run into any other family members he’s never heard about before he gets the chance to take his morning dump.

Sure enough, there’s another bathroom close by, so he takes care of business and gets himself from “troll” to “vaguely presentable”. God, he hopes Jackson’s family isn't one of those formal ones where everyone dresses for breakfast or something. Even if they are, he reasons, surely they won't begrudge him coming down for coffee before he has a shower, right? Right, he thinks, and heads cautiously downstairs. Everyone understands the necessity of morning caffeine. Even rich people.

\--

The kitchen in the daylight is bright and airy, white walls and pale calico curtains. There's a frankly huge stove on one wall, complete with a built in griddle on which an older man is flipping pancakes. Stiles can't help himself, he moans out loud at the smell of them, then immediately claps an embarrassed hand over his mouth. The man turns and smiles broadly at him, and _Jesus_ , it's a real shame that Jackson’s adopted, because if his dad’s any indication, he would've been smoking hot in middle age.

“C’mon in,” tall, hot, and cooking says, and gestures with his spatula at the counter to his left. “Coffee’s there, if you take it,” he says, and Stiles nods mutely, “sugar’s in the dish there, and creamer in the fridge.”

Stiles regains his presence of mind enough to make his way over to the coffee pot and dig a mug out of the cabinet above it, settling it down carefully on the counter, because it looks like it’s one of a set, and he’s notorious at breaking things. It’s nothing like the cracked _#1 Sheriff_ or the _Visit Sunny San Diego_ mugs at home-  it's like he’s entered a different universe, and he's suddenly irrationally angry with Jackson for holding out on him all this time, Jackson with his nice, attractive rich family, who make goddamn pancakes at 8am on a Saturday. He takes a resentful sip of his coffee, and _Jesus_ , if this is what rich people coffee tastes like, he's never leaving this house, _goddamn_.

The older man; Mr. Whittemore, Stiles supposes; carries on making breakfast. There’s a pile of pancakes at his elbow he keeps covered with a thick towel to keep them warm, and after a couple of minutes, he puts a skillet on to heat, fishing bacon out of the fridge.

It takes Stiles several sips of coffee before he remembers his manners, but his “Anything I can do to help?” just gets a blinding smile and a “No, thanks, I enjoy doing it myself. You just sit there and have your coffee.”

So, Stiles does. He’s halfway through his cup of religious experience levels of caffeine when Cora wanders down, still in her pajamas and robe. She’s got bedhead like he’s never seen on a girl before, but he buries his snicker in his mug, because she looks like she could murder someone who got between her and the coffee pot. In the morning sun, she’s older than he thought, maybe only a few years younger than him and Jackson, which makes it funnier that he’s never heard her mentioned. She also looks just like her father, which is a little odd, but Stiles just mentally shrugs it off. It’s a thing he’s heard of, that families who can’t have kids adopt, and then suddenly end up pregnant- and anyway, maybe they could have had kids the whole time; Cora had said “sisters”, plural. Maybe they just really wanted a son, or maybe they’re just really nice people who wanted to give a kid who needed a home some love.

“Stiles,” Cora says, edging onto a stool next to him with a mug of steaming elixir in her hands. He nods politely back .”Cora.”

The enter into the timeless camaraderie of the caffeine junkies, sipping intermittently as Mr. Whittemore rhythmically flips the pancakes, and starts the bacon grilling.

After another ten minutes or so, during which Stiles sneaks over to refill his cup, feeling like he’s stealing, but too enamoured of this dark blend to care much, another woman enters. She’s taller and older than Cora, but not old enough to be Jackson’s mom, so she must be another sister. She’s dressed, but casually, in jeans and an old sweatshirt, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. She, too, makes a bee-line for the coffee, only noticing Stiles after she’s filled a mug and started sipping.

“This is Stiles,” Cora says briefly, “the _boyfriend_.”

“Uh, hi?” Stiles grins and gives a brief wave. He’s not really sure what Cora’s emphasis was for, but the other woman just raises a surprised eyebrow before shrugging and smiling back at him.

“Hi, Stiles. I’m Laura. Nice to have you here.”

“Wait, Laura and…”

“Yes,” Cora rolls her eyes, “it’s Dad’s fault. He’s got this northern accent that he claims means they don’t rhyme.”

“Lah-rah and Coh-ruh,” Mr. Whittemore interjects cheerfully from the stove, now cracking eggs into the skillet the bacon had just occupied. “They don’t!”

“Right.” Laura says, pulling a grumpy face that suddenly makes her Cora’s twin. “Only they do to everyone else in the world.”

“That’s ok,” Stiles says generously, “I can’t mock. My first name’s not even pronounceable to American tongues. Czibor,” he declares proudly, watching Cora’s eyes widen.

“Cheh-zee-bore,” she tries, frowning, but that doesn’t sound a thing like…”

“Sweetheart, will you set the table please?” Mr. Whittemore interrupts, and Cora scrambles off her stool. “We’ll need… let’s see, six places, I think.”

“Sure, dad,” the girls chorus, and suddenly Stiles is alone in the kitchen with Mr. Whittemore.

“Stiles, if you want to make another pot, and put some of those mugs out on the table?”

“Sure thing, sir.” Stiles says, and hops to.

\--

Cora and Laura have the table all set, Stiles has the coffee brewing, and halfway through Mr. Whittemore putting piles of food onto the table a lovely middle-aged woman comes down who can only be Laura and Cora’s mother. The resemblance is unmistakable. Everyone else is puttering around, so he puts out his hand and smiles.

“Hi. I’m Stiles.”

The woman beams, exuding a calm, peaceful authority that makes a little part of Stiles melt. Melissa would love her, he thinks.

“Call me Talia,” she replies, enfolding his hand briefly with hers and ushering him into a seat. “Here, come sit down, Derek will be down in just a moment, and we’ll get started.”

_God, how many Whittemores are there_ , Stiles wonders, but obediently sits where he’s placed, still nursing his second cup of coffee.  Talia settles at the end of the table, and Laura ends up across from him. Cora’s bringing the last of the toppings, the syrup and honey, butter and fresh berries, and Mr. Whittemore is pouring the fresh coffee into an elegant ceramic carafe when Stiles hears a tread on the stairs behind him, and turns to see the most attractive man he’s ever seen in his life descending.

“Oh, Derek, good,” Talia calls, “here, come sit by Stiles.”

The minor deity called Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles, but comes fully into the room and pulls out the chair next to him, settling in and putting a napkin in his lap. He’s tall and dark like the girls, but with incredible light green eyes that must be a throwback to a long-dead ancestor, because all the other Whittemores have varying shades of eye color as brown as Stiles’ own. This is Jackson’s brother, Stiles reminds himself forcibly, trying to call to mind an image of Jackson in low-riding sweatpants and a henley that’s even half as attractive as Derek is. This is Jackson’s _brother_.

“Nice to meet you,” Derek says as he gets settled in, his voice higher than Stiles expected, “can you pass the coffee?”

Stiles does as asked, not trusting his voice to respond, which is probably a little rude, but he’s saved by the arrival and seating of Cora and Mr. Whittemore, and the advent of feeding in the Whittemore household.

He’d been worried about this being a formal and mannerly breakfast wherein his manifold failings at patience, class, and dexterity would be exposed, but the only thing refined about this breakfast is the table service. As soon as Mr. Whittemore beams and says “Dig in!”, all politesse falls by the wayside. Cora honest to god snarls at Derek when he takes too much bacon, and Laura spills syrup on the table cloth by pouring it at the same time she’s pouring her coffee. Talia slaps Mr. Whittemore’s hand away from the eggs when he starts trying to serve himself before she’s done, and Laura and Derek have a brief but intense fork duel over the last pancake.

Stiles fills his plate as full as possible, moaning as he digs into the pancakes. He’s layered bacon and eggs in between each pancake, and doused the whole thing with syrup, and Cora looks reluctantly impressed at the resulting breakfast food triple-decker. It’s like heaven in his mouth, and he closes his eyes as he chews the fist full bite, opening them after a moment to find Derek staring at him with a heat in his gaze that makes Stiles go all hot in the cheeks. Jackson, he reminds himself, _Jackson_.

The table falls from raucous calls for the passing of various food stuffs into near silence as everyone bends themselves to the important business of devouring the food in front of them. Sounds of chewing reign supreme, accompanied by a delicate counterpoint of clinking silverware and slurping beverages. At some point Laura gets up and makes more coffee, and Talia goes to fetch some orange juice and several glasses, but all Stiles can focus on is the taste orgasm in his mouth, and the incredibly hot man sitting next to him.

Derek, as it turns out, is not only hot, not only smells good and gives off warmth like a furnace that Stiles can feel through his hoodie, he’s also a tease, reaching over to solicitously pour coffee for his mother so she won’t notice him sneaking the last strip of bacon off her plate, “accidentally” bumping Stiles’ elbow as he snags another pancake so that it falls on Derek’s plate into his ready and waiting pool of syrup, then shrugging with wide eyes as he cuts into it and says, “thanks!”

Stiles does not know what to do with this. _Maybe_ , he thinks, _maybe Cora was right_. Maybe Jackson really doesn’t tell anyone about his family because they are all so much cooler than he is. Maybe he’s spent his whole life feeling a little out of step, a little less wonderful, a little less included. _I mean, God_ , Stiles thinks, _if your family is this amazing, it would be hard to be the odd one out._

He’s almost got it, he’s almost feeling sympathetic for Jackson, almost misses him, even though apparently Jackson’s just fine with running off to his morning meeting without so much as checking to make sure Stiles settled in okay, or, you know, introduce him to his family, and then… then there is a hand on his leg.

Stiles chokes on his coffee.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Talia’s face is concerned, and all Stiles can do is nod, and wipe his watering eyes with his napkin as he coughs, because Derek’s hand is on his leg, and not, like, his knee, but rubbing slowly back and forth at his mid-thigh, and when Stiles cuts his eyes sideways, Derek merely twitches an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth, waiting to see if Stiles will push him away.

He should. He really should. He will, just as soon as he stops coughing. He will take Jackson’s ridiculously hot brother’s hand off his leg, just as soon as…

“So,” Laura says, smiling brightly, “Stiles, why don’t you tell us how you and Derek met? He never tells us anything about his relationships.”

“Um.” Stiles freezes, and the hand on his leg disappears abruptly. “Me and… Derek?”

“Yeah,” Cora prompts, “You know. The beginning of your big romance. I mean, he’s never brought anyone home before.”

Stiles looks at Derek helplessly, and Derek just stares back at him in confusion.

“Uh, we’ve never…”

“I thought he was one of Laura's friends…”

Derek and Stiles swap glances, Derek’s eyes as wide and shocked as Stiles’ own, and try again.

“I don’t know…”

“We haven’t ever...”

“Wait,” Mr. Whittemore says, holding up a hand. “Are you saying you’ve never met before this morning?”

“No, sir,” Stiles says, shaking his head in total bewilderment. “I’m dating your other son, Jackson?”

“...our other son.” Talia is also frowning, and Stiles has a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach that is negating the previous joy of that wonderful breakfast which he had just consumed.

“Um, yes. Jackson? Jackson Whittemore?”

“Son, our name’s not Whittemore,” Talia says kindly, “it’s Hale. And Derek’s the only boy in the family.”

“Oh. God.” This is the closest thing he’s felt to the world ending since he wet his pants on stage during the second grade play. He’s almost dizzy with horror, with the implications of the fact that he has now spent something like eight hours in these strangers’ home, ate their food, drank their coffee, lusted after their son.... Stiles struggles to his feet, grabbing at his napkin as it falls, “I am So. Sorry. I will just… get my things… and…”

“Stiles, sit.” Talia is smiling gently, but there’s no arguing with her tone. Stiles sits like his legs have been kicked out from under him. “It’s okay. Finish your breakfast.” She begins to chuckle, looking around at the table and crinkling her eyes with mirth. “Now I just want to know how this happened!”

Laura is also starting to grin, and Cora huffs. “Derek, this is all your fault.” She scowls, and Derek raises his hands in protest. “If you weren’t so damn secretive about your love life, I would never have assumed he was your boyfriend and let him come in in the first place.”

“Wait, you thought I was with _Derek_?” Stiles squeaks, at the same time that Derek says, “How is this _my_ fault? You’re the one apparently letting strangers in the back door!”

“I just thought I’d misheard his name!” Cora answers, “You don’t ever tell us anything about who you’re dating, not ever, so I just thought I’d misheard ‘ _Keith_ ’ as ‘ _Kate_ ’ or something like that!”

“And then I said…” it starts to dawn on Stiles, slowly, but with a rising sense of amazement, “that my first name is weird, and that’s why I go by Stiles.”

“Yeah!” Cora nods, “so then I really just figured I’d misunderstood. I mean, Derek’s bi, so it wasn’t that big a stretch.”

“First of all, Cora, Kate and I broke up months ago,” Derek starts.

“Well, how was I supposed to know? You’d said she was coming in on the 22nd to visit, and she’d be in late! That was the last I heard!”

“...and then she dumped my sorry ass,” Derek continues, “and maybe I don’t like to share my personal business around, but I definitely would have said something, or Christ, _stayed up to see him,_ if I had a boyfriend coming in!”

_Great_ , Stiles thinks quietly, _even strangers think my boyfriend’s a jerk._

“Laura, who’d you think he was?” Derek asks, a note of curiosity in his tone, shoving another bite into his mouth, and Stiles doesn’t know what to think of how everyone is just taking this so well. It’s like someone threw a crossword down on the table, and now they’re all fighting over the clues.

Laura shrugs. “Cora introduced him to me, I figured he was one of her friends.” She chews thoughtfully. “But wait, wasn’t he sleeping with you? How are you dumb enough to miss that?”

Derek scowls adorably. “That floofy new comforter Mom bought for the guestroom could hide a yeti. He must’ve had it up over his face.” He shrugs. “Besides, it’s a California King- you could sleep another three people in it before you started bumping into each other.”

Laura nods, conceding the point. “Dad?”

Mr. Whittemore, _no_ , Stiles corrects himself, Mr. _Hale_ , calmly pours himself more coffee.

“Strange kids have been showing up in my kitchen since Laura hit puberty. I don’t question them, I just feed them.”

“Stiles, sweetheart.” Talia reaches over and puts her hand on his. “You look upset.”

“Well, yes! I mean, I as good as broke into your house…”

“No, no,” Cora interrupts, waving a dismissive hand, “I let you in, you would’ve fallen asleep in the bushes if I hadn’t.”

“...and I slept in your bed…”

“Better than the bushes,” Laura points out.

“...and I’ve been sitting here eating your food…”

“Yeah, great breakfast, Dad, thanks,” Derek comments, gesturing approvingly with a fork and settling his other hand back on Stiles’ knee, though it’s less of a come on and more of a comfort this time, Stiles thinks.

“...and none of you have ever even _met_ me! Christ.” He drops his face to the table, narrowly missing a puddle of syrup. “The Uber driver must’ve gotten the address wrong. I’ve never been to Jackson’s house, I’ve never met his family, so I just didn’t figure it out. God, I’m _so_ sorry.”

“There, there, hon. We don’t mind.” Talia pets his head soothingly. “Jacob, dear, will you get Stiles a glass of milk? He’s had a big surprise.”

“Sure thing.” Stiles hears Mr. Hale get up and move to the kitchen, and focuses on breathing in and out while Talia gently rubs circles on his back. The footsteps return, and there’s a clink on the table next to his head. “Here you go, son. Why don’t you sit up, and tell us a little bit about what you’re doing here in San Francisco?”

Stiles exhales a shuddery breath and hauls himself upright, taking in the circle of concerned faces. Mr. Hale looks just as calm as he has all morning, but Laura looks torn between laughter and sympathy, and Cora looks downright contrite. Talia is just smiling benignly at him, but Derek, when Stiles turns to look at him, starts to chuckle, and then brings his napkin up.

“It’s just… hold still, you’ve got a blueberry right…” Derek rubs gently at Stiles’ eyebrow, and then pulls his hand away and smiles, blindingly. “There. Got it.”

“Here, hon. Have a drink of milk, and tell us everything.” Talia beams at him as he picks up his glass, so Stiles takes a drink, and then does.

He tells them everything. He tells them about Jackson; how long they’ve been together, how they kind of fell into a relationship, and then it just… worked okay, so they stuck with it. He tells them about his father, and Scott, about his mother and about Melissa, about Beacon Hills and going away for school, and how he really wanted to spend Christmas with his dad, like he always does, but he’d also felt like it was put up or shut up time for him and Jackson, and how he was just trying to commit to something for once in his life, so he’d come here.

“Wait, so, does Jackson look like us?” Cora squints at him. “I mean, much as I hate to admit it, we’ve got a pretty strong family resemblance.”

“Hate to admit it?” Laura cuffs her on the back of the head, “you’re just lucky you both came out as good as me,” she sniffs.

“No,” Stiles answers honestly, “he doesn’t look a thing like any of you, but he’s adopted.”

“Ah,” Talia says, “so it didn’t raise any red flags.”

“No,” Stiles shrugs. “And Jackson and his parents… I don’t think they really get along that well? I think he’s always feeling like he has to live up to them, prove that he’s good enough? So he doesn’t really talk about them.” Stiles shrugs wearily. “And he’s not a sentimental guy, so there aren’t really pictures around or anything. I don’t know what his family looks like, so seeing you all… I just figured they’d also had another couple kids, and he’d never mentioned them”

Talia frowns. “Jackson sounds like a rather sad young man.”

“You mean he sounds like a douche,” Cora says, and then “Ow! Derek!” as there’s the sound of a swift kick under the table.

“Yeah, he is a douche” Stiles agrees, “but I’m not easy to live with either. I mean, he puts up with me, I put up with him…”

Talia’s frown is getting deeper. “You’ve been together for five years…”

“Well, yeah, I mean, mostly…”

“...and you’ve never met his family…”

“No, he’s a pretty private guy…”

“...and when you fly in to meet them, and be with him for the holidays, giving up your own time with your family to be with him, he doesn’t even stay up to make sure you’re in safe?”

That last one comes from Derek, and Stiles turns in surprise to find that his scowl is a mirror image of Talia’s.

“Stiles, sweetheart, I think you’re selling yourself a little short here.” Talia reaches over to take his hand in hers again, and Stiles has to fight his eyes welling up at the simple gesture. “You seem like a very kind and charming young man. I’m not sure why you think that you need to settle for someone who doesn’t take a whole lot of care for you and your wellbeing.”

“Want me to rough him up? Make him appreciate you a little more?” Cora’s grin is sharp, and Laura groans.

“Must it always be violence with you? Show a little respect. This guy must have some redeeming qualities, if Stiles has been with him for this long. Right, Stiles?”

“Well, I mean…” Stiles scratches at the back of his head. “He’s smart. He’s very driven. He dedicates himself to what he wants, pursues it relentlessly.”

Derek scoffs beside him. “You sound like you’re a teacher describing a pet student.”

“Derek, shush.” Laura flaps a hand at him, then leans forward and looks Stiles earnestly in the eyes. “Stiles, do you love him?”

“I…” Stiles can feel his eyes going wide, his mouth opening and closing. “I...think so?”

Derek’s already shaking his head beside him, and Talia looks disappointed, but it’s Jacob who speaks, his voice calm, but certain.

“Stiles, when you’re in love, there’s no thinking involved. It’s either yes, or it’s no,” he locks eyes with Talia across the table, and a slow smile spreads across his face. “And when it’s yes, there’s no question in your mind, and there’s no hesitation.”

There’s a long moment where Talia beams, Laura and Cora roll their eyes, and Derek slumps down in his seat, and Stiles can feel his heart break just a little bit. This is what his parents must have been like, he thinks, this is what he wants, and is it so wrong, that he’s trying to take what he has and make it into this? Is it so wrong to just want to be happy?

“Come on, girls.” Jacob stands, and folds his napkin. “Help me clean up.”

“Yes, dad,” they chorus, and jump up to begin clearing the table.

“Stiles?” He turns to face Talia, swallowing hard at the sympathetic smile on her face. “Why don’t you go ahead and take a shower and get dressed? Then, when you’re ready, Derek will take you to find Jackson’s house.”

\--

He showers and pulls on clean clothes in a state of somewhat numb shock. He’d checked his phone when he’d come up to the room, and found a brief series of texts from Jackson, starting with “I thought you would be in last night?”, going to “Well, thanks for letting me know, asshole,” and ending with “You better make it for dinner, or else don’t bother, and I’ll see you in a few days”, which… he knows Jackson’s gruff, and that asshole is a term of endearment for both of them, but he can’t stop thinking of the way that Jacob and Talia gaze at each other, the way that their kids all pretend to hate it, but so clearly are secretly pleased by their parents’ open regard for each other.

It takes him until he’s zipping up his suitcase to notice the pair of jeans on the other side of the bed, and it hits him like a freight train that the warm body in the bed last night, that the person in the shower that morning, was _Derek_ , and he has to sit down for a moment because he feels faint. Lust, embarrassment, and disgust with himself are at war within him, because even if Derek isn’t actually Jackson’s brother after all, Jackson is still his boyfriend, and Stiles is not a cheater. It doesn’t help, though, that Stiles feels a spark with Derek like he hasn’t felt with anyone in years, that his mind wants to wander down “but what if…” hand in hand with a tall, dark man in loose sweatpants and a worn henley.

\--

Derek is waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs when Stiles emerges with his suitcase and carry-on, his damp hair sticking every which way. Derek must have clothes elsewhere in the house, because he’s pulled on jeans and a leather jacket which, if Stiles hadn’t seen him in sweatpants bickering with his sisters half an hour ago, would be really intimidating.

Cora and Laura are nowhere to be found, and Jacob looks to be out back starting on some yard work, but Talia catches them before they hit the door, and pulls him into a tight hug, her elegant perfume catching in Stiles’ nose as she holds him close.

He hugs her back, because mom hugs are never to be passed up, no matter whose mom they come from.

“Now, listen, Stiles,” she steps back and holds him by the shoulders. “You have a good trip, and you let us know if you need anything, okay? And get Derek to give you his number, and then let us know that you get home safe after Christmas. Holiday travel can be so chaotic!” She shakes her head disapprovingly.

“I put my number in his phone while he was in the shower, Mom,” Derek rumbles, and Stiles shoots him a glare over Talia’s shoulder. “Creeper,” he says, and Derek just beams beatifically.

Talia clucks. “Derek, make sure he’s at the right place before you take off. And Stiles, sweetheart, don’t just settle, okay?” She pats his cheek and beams at him. “You’ve got a lot to offer the right person.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and hugs her again, and then Derek’s got his suitcase, and they’re out the door.

\--

A simple google search turns up the error- the Hales live on an Avenue, while the Whittemores live on the Street of the same name. It’s only about two miles between the two houses, such a small distance that they’re there in under twenty minutes, even with Saturday morning traffic.

Derek’s scowl has only gotten deeper as they’ve gotten closer, his eyebrows drawing together above his nose in a way that’s just unbearably cute, Stiles thinks, even if it does look like they could jump off Derek’s face and murder someone on their own.

They pull up in front of the curb. It’s another large, imposing house, but this one is sheer white, unrelieved by flowers or decoration, all long, firm lines designed to declare its presence on this street, in this city, in this world. Stiles moves to get out, but Derek claps a hand on his knee, holding him in place as Stiles turns to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Listen, I’m waiting right here.” He pins Stiles with his pale gaze, and Stiles nods helplessly. “If they say one wrong thing to you…”

Stiles laughs. “I’ll call Cora, and she’ll come beat them up.”

Derek tries to continue scowling, but then he laughs too, and nods. “Yeah. I’ll hold ‘em down till she gets here.” He reaches over and rests a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, and all Stiles can think is how big and warm it is, how good the grip Derek’s got on the base of his skull feels. “Take care, Stiles. And call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Stiles forces himself to unclip his seatbelt, and grab his bags. “I appreciate it.”

\--

He stands on the low, clean-swept porch, and rings the bell. There’s no answer the first time, so he tries again, and hears the sound of distant high heels approaching. He waits, heart in his mouth.

“Yes, how can I help you?” The door swings open to reveal a tall, slim woman in a beige skirt-suit with perfectly coiffed hair. “Oh, if you’re here about the pool, it’s out back, Maria can show you. Maria!” she calls over her shoulder.

“No, wait!” Stiles holds up his hand. “Hi. I’m Stiles. I’m here for Christmas.” Her face is completely blank, so he forges on. “I’m Jackson’s boyfriend?”

“Oh, darling!” She titters, covering her mouth delicately with one hand. “You must have the wrong house. Our Jackson is a successful young man- he isn’t gay. Good day!”

The door shuts, and Stiles stands there staring at it as the sound of her heels clicks off over the tile floors, his mind completely blank.

“Stiles? Hey, Stiles!”

It’s Derek’s voice shouting from the car that shakes him from his stunned stupor, and he holds up a finger to keep Derek there as he fishes out his phone.

_You didn’t even tell your parents I’m your boyfriend?_

He pauses, but only for a moment, before he sends the next one.

_We’re done._

Then he turns off his phone, and walks back to the car.

\--

“Hey,” Derek looks worried as he climbs in, swinging his suitcase into the backseat and slamming the door. “What happened?”

“Well,” Stiles says, “Let’s just say that things are a whole lot clearer now.” He deflates, the adrenaline leaving him in a rush. “Can you just take me to a hotel near the airport? I should just… I should just go home.”

“Hey,” Derek’s voice is gentle, and he gets his fingers under Stiles’ chin, turning Stiles’ face toward him, catching Stiles’ gaze with his sea-glass eyes. He smiles slow and sweet, leaning in slow. “Wanna come home with me?”

“Oh my god. _Yes_ ,” Stiles answers, and leans in to kiss him soundly.

\--

Talia answers the door when they return, Stiles with his carry-on, and Derek with Stiles’ suitcase.

“Oh, good!” she says, clapping her hands together in delight, “You’re back! Will you be staying for Christmas?”

“Um,” Stiles scratches the back of his neck and smiles nervously, “If you don’t mind?”

“Jacob,” Talia shouts over her shoulder, “update the grocery list! We’ll have company for Christmas dinner! Cora, Laura, get the guest rooms ready!” She turns back to them. “Stiles, sweetheart, call your dad, and let him know he should just come stay here, alright? There’s no reason for him to be alone for the holidays.”

“Well, uh,” Stiles stammers, “There’s Melissa and Scott, too, I mean…”

“Wonderful!” She beams. “I can’t wait to meet them! Tell them to come, too.” She turns and bustles off into the house, leaving Stiles gaping on the doorstep.

“Well,” Derek smiles at him, his eyes twinkling and mouth creasing at the corners, “I guess we’re skipping a few steps here, but,” he holds out his arm to gesture Stiles into the house. “Welcome to the family.”


End file.
